A tall, cloaked figure swept past the door. It backtracked, its hood peering through the barred window, sensing the presence of the man inside. Satisified, it glided on, checking all the cells.
The man inside glared through the bars, wishing the dementors wouldn't patrol every hour, sucking the happiness out of his brain. Listening, he heard the screams of someone in a room near him. The man shook his head. He probably _deserved_ the gradual loss of his sanity. He was probably a real Death Eater, working for Voldemort. He wasn't put into Azkaban wrongfully. He probably even got a trial.
Sirius sighed. There was no point in harping on _that_ fact. There was much more than that that he had a reason to gripe about. A rat scuttled from a hole in his cell, glanced at him, then exited through a hole on the other side, helped on his way by a kick Sirius placed on his rear. He frowned. "I hate rats."